For the mission
by robinh
Summary: Post episode 7.06. Michael is left to deal with the consequences of his actions. Spoilers for pretty much everything so far.


**A/N**: I do not own Burn Notice or its characters. This is a short Michael POV, post 7.06. Spoilers for pretty much everything, please be warned. This season is getting worse, in the most precious way possible, and my heart is still aching with the intensity of it all.

Thanks for reading. Please tell me what you think.

* * *

He's reaching his breaking point when he's back home. When he's with her.

()()()

At the beginning, when he was separated from her, forced to betray her for the umpteenth time, it was relatively easy. He was still home, you see? Way too busy, negotiating for her freedom, and for his friend's lives, and for his mother than to pay much attention to anything as trivial as his own feelings. He had to stay focused enough to make it all happen, and he spent hours and days with Strong, making sure the guy will keep his part of the deal and give him the company's reassurance that she'll be off limit for every agency on the globe. It was clear, and clear was easy.

Maybe it was false self assurance, or blindness on his part, maybe it was his lifelong habit to follow commands despite his better judgment, that kept him so naive. Either way, he found console in the fact that she was _free_, and _safe_, and that the deal was done. He had told himself that her devastated fury was a necessity, and fell under the definition of 'collateral damage'. Told himself it's going to be like in every other mission they've gone through before.

()()()

He was wrong.

It was brutal when he realized that.

So he tried to play with what he had, and give her time.

It's not that her reaction didn't crush him. It did. More than anything, he was disappointed that she couldn't see things from _his_ perspective. They'd parted angry, and sad, and the look in her eyes had enough warning in it, to make him question himself for the first time since Fullerton. He pushed down all the doubts though, and didn't run after her even though all his instincts told him he should. He managed it, somehow, because Strong was watching, and her life was on the line.

Even after that, deep inside he was hoping he'll be able to make this one slide as well. Like he always did. Deep inside he thought that it wasn't too late. They've been there before. They've gone through worse. He tried to ignore the nauseated idea that kept assaulting his mind, telling him that he might have crossed the line too far, this time.

She walked away from him before, too. That what he kept reminding himself when he was left to make his own escape from their life together. It took him weeks, maybe months to put her tears covered face and the bitter taste of guilt that came with each memory, behind him.

The alcohol helped. The physical pain, too. The taste of blood, the broken ribs... He looked at his image in that filthy mirror in that dump in the Dominicans, and thought to himself, _well at least this is some kind of punishment_, even though he wasn't it was even nearly enough.

()()()

He survived.

Lonely, and hurt, and on the verge of insanity, but he did.

He survived like he'd done for years before her. Empty, and mechanic, and tired, but still breathing. The idea of her, was left for better days, after his obligations had all been met. The mission was the only thing on his mind.

He thought he had endured the worst of it, but was surprised to find that it only became harder, as the days went by. He was waiting endlessly for Burk to make contact, getting more tired, frustrated and depressed every single day. He missed home for the first time in his life, he missed his mother, and he missed _her_ so much he thought he might scream from the pain. He had a picture hidden in one of the chairs, so when exhaustion or drunkenness, or loneliness became too much to bare, he took it out and looked at it silently, moving his callous hand on her beautiful face, her smile, her hair... The image of their happy days was there staring at him in the dark Dominican night, and he refused to let go, because he hoped that given the chance, he would only have to talk to her, or touch her again, or flash his trademark smile at her, and he'll be able to get her back.

()()()

She was so cold when he saw her at last.

Cold and distant and resentful.

He was desperate to see her. His entire body shaking with the anticipation, like a drug addict in need of a fix. He was nervous. Thrilled. Scared out of his wits. He couldn't explain it. Maybe it was because he had just watched her through the CIA surveillance cameras, and she looked so good, it physically hurt. She built a new home, all white and clean, and painfully recognizable. She had a new man touching her, young, and loving, and with a smile of his own. He was standing there in front of the screen, shell-shocked, wishing desperately she wasn't as happy as she seemed to be.

After that it was even worse. The surveillance footages were all a big fucking joke, a miserable imitation, compared to the real devastation he felt when he found himself, finally, standing before her. The cold look she sent him when he first spoke her name after nine months, the tired disappointment, the indifference... He was expecting fury. He was expecting rage. He was expecting tears, and curses, a bullet to his head maybe, but definitely not this. The cold Irish kiss-off she gave him, was the last nail in the proverbial coffin of their relationship. It was way too familiar, the cruel way she chose to do it in, then she only moved past him, and he was left there, broken. His heart shuttered into a million pieces.

()()()

He went back to the field after that, furious and hurt and on the verge of losing his mind. He took out her picture, and burnt it, trying to recover some of his dignity, but failing miserably.

He stood in front of the mirror, in that filthy apartment that was squeaking with cockroaches, and almost lost his hope.

()()()

Almost.

But he didn't.

Even after that.

After his initial outburst, he found his center again.

Ridiculous, he knows. The way he looked for clues to prove he still had her. And there _were_ clues. Even though it took all his self persuasion, and knowledge of her secret language to find them. It took some time and efforts, but finally he was able to read her, and to see she was actually there, working with Sam and Jesse to save his ass, like always. She remembered _him_, she remembered _Ireland_, and it helped them work well together, and it kept her _alive_. More than all, she made sure to kiss that pathetic kid she was sleeping with right in front of him, just to make him suffer. He could practically laugh when he thought about it. She was trying to hide it carefully, but underneath the unperturbed front, he could still sense the spirit of his old determined lover. Fiona Glennane was still there, angry and vindictive as ever.

He met with Burk the next day, back in the shoes of his undercover identity. All he needed was another shot, to finish this god damn mission, to get back home, so he could fight for her. The rules were clear again. The target on sight. He compartmentalized every personal thing on his mind, his home, his fears, his bleeding heart, and went on with the plan.

()()()

He finally reached his breaking point, after working with her.

He wasn't expecting that.

Finally the last of his hopes were shuttered.

Finally, he became a man with nothing to lose.

It was everything he had hoped for. Being with her, spending hours and hours making plans, orchestrating an approach, creating new identities. They completed each other in every aspect, guessing each other's thoughts, reacting to each other's actions, reading the hidden messages, backing each other, connecting so naturally, as if the months of separation never happened.

And after that, when it was finally over, he finally got his chance... They were sitting alone together. Victorious. Reunited. He was looking into her green eyes, he was talking to her, not entirely smiling, but ready to pour everything out and beg for another chance...

_"Michael, it's already over."_

Suddenly the entire world was crushing around him. He was sure that working with her again will be enough. But it wasn't.

_"Michael, it's already over."_

Suddenly he had no idea what to say. No arguments to offer. No last minute crazy tactic to solve a challenging situation, to keep her there with him, and to win her back.

_"Michael, it's already over."_

Finally there was no hope anymore. He'd crushed into the walls of her refusal, and he never imagined it'll hurt as much as it did.

She got up and left him there in that coffee place, and he was so empty, he couldn't even run after her.

()()()

He reached his breaking point, and then, the only thing that was left was the mission.

The fucking mission.

He spent hours on the streets, under the pouring rain, before he was reasonably under control again.

He stood at the bottom of the staircase to the loft, their ruined home, their burnt down relationship, and he knew the next step he takes will be the end of it.

The mission was all that left.

He didn't care about himself anymore. Not really.

When he stepped in, and found Sonya there, he was ready to commit himself fully, and to lose the last of his dignity, to let them take all that was left of him.

()()()

It's the first time he cried since Nate died. He didn't mean to, but she mentioned sacrifices, and he was standing there in the loft that was once the happiest place in his existence, and now served as its gravestone, and he just couldn't stop. Suddenly his cover slipped, and the boundary between what was real and pretence became vague. _Maybe this is the way you feel when you hit rock bottom_, he thought to himself, _maybe this is the way you feel when you lost everything, and you have nothing else to protect_.

()()()

She was the first woman he touched since Fiona. Even during the years of separation, after he left Ireland, when he was back in the field, when he was in Africa, and later when she came back to haunt him in his own hometown, the idea of being with another woman never even crossed his mind.

She was his one and only. His motherland, his queen, his everything. He was bond to her forever, in a way that made no room for other people, even when he wanted nothing to do with her. Even when he was still pushing her away from him.

He kissed the young blonde woman, feeling the finality of his humiliation with every touch, and with every unfamiliar taste. _I'm doing it for the mission_, he told himself. Like always. Everything. For the god damn sacred mission. He wasn't lying, _he really did_ do it for the mission, because there wasn't any hope anymore, and he had nothing left.


End file.
